Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

Chapter 400: Chapter 186: Crack in the Iron Curtain

"Words themselves are power."

"Because the United States, as a nation, is fundamentally a castle in the air built from words like the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution."

"It captures thoughts and tames them. It takes the chaotic, formless, primitive desires in the minds of millions and forcibly compresses them into a single container."

"We build consensus through language."

"We make three hundred million people believe they belong to the same community, willing to die for the same abstract concept."

"We use these illusory words to drive real flesh and blood to charge forward, to build, to sacrifice."

"Lincoln spoke for only two minutes at Gettysburg, but in those two minutes, he redefined a civil war that had killed hundreds of thousands."

"I did the same. I sat in my wheelchair, spoke into a microphone, and used my voice to build a bridge of confidence in the air."

"Now, Murphy has learned this magic as well."

"And that is why he won."

The speech was drawing to a close.

The roaring crowd slowly quieted down, and Murphy’s tone softened.

"In the Democratic Party, in the Pennsylvania Blue-collar Caucus."

"We no longer discuss the labels that divide us."

"We don’t ask if you’re white or black, whether you live in the city or the country."

"We must transcend the hatred that has been deliberately manufactured."

"We must walk toward true freedom."

Murphy opened his arms as if to embrace all of Pennsylvania.

"The revival of Pennsylvania won’t come from a few bills or a few projects."

"It will come from us finding our hearts again."

"To repair this broken society, we must first repair ourselves."

"Look at the sky!"

Murphy pointed to the pitch-black night sky above.

Just then, the beam of a searchlight swept past, piercing the darkness.

"The iron curtain may be heavy."

"But light will always find a crack."

"First thing tomorrow morning, we go to Washington!"

"We are going to change them!"

"Thank you, Pennsylvania! God bless you all!"

As his last words fell, a thunderous cheer erupted from the square.

Confetti cannons fired, and the music was deafening.

Murphy stood center stage, bathed in light, waving to the crowd on all sides.

His face shone with a victor’s radiance, a confidence and composure suggesting he was born for this very moment.

Leo watched that familiar yet distant back and didn’t go forward to congratulate him.

He knew this moment on stage belonged to Murphy.

Besides, Murphy probably didn’t want to see him.

Seeing him would be a reminder of the dirty deals, the necessary compromises, a reminder that he himself wasn’t so immaculate after all.

"There are natural-born leaders in this world," Roosevelt said.

"Like you, like me. We’re the embers in the wasteland, living on intuition, anger, and a mad vision for the future."

"We are destroyers, and we are creators."

"But, Leo, you must understand."

"There’s no such thing as a natural-born bureaucrat. Bureaucrats are made."

Roosevelt seemed to extend a finger, pointing at the radiant, newly-minted Senator on the stage.

"Look at him."

"You gave him money, you gave him a voter base, you gave him a logic of prosperity that requires no accountability. You fed him, cleaned him up, and placed him on a pedestal."

"Did you think you were just helping him win an election?"

"No."

"You’ve subjected him to a complete transformation."

"The Murphy of today is no longer just John Murphy."

"He is the spokesman for the Pittsburgh model, a new upstart in the eyes of Washington, the Democratic Party’s most important piece on the board in a Swing State."

"He’s learned how to walk like a Senator, how to fake a smile like a Senator, and how to calculate your remaining value while he’s embracing you."

Leo looked at the stage.

Murphy was hugging his wife and daughter. The scene was heartwarming, perfectly aligning with the middle-class ideal of family values.

But Leo keenly noticed that even as Murphy embraced them, his eyes were still locked on the camera’s red light, ensuring his profile was at the best possible angle.

It was an instinct—one that had been disciplined, institutionalized.

"He’s gotten into character, Leo."

Roosevelt let out a sigh.

"He now sees himself as part of the ruling class, a guardian of the established order."

"In his subconscious, he has already completed a class ascension."

"And you?"

"In his eyes, now accustomed to the glare of Washington, you’re still the boiler stoker, covered in soot, who could cause an explosion at any moment."

"He will start to be wary of you."

"Because you know his background too well. You hold too many secrets about how he rose to power."

"To protect this newly established system, to protect his new feathers."

"He’s ready to devour anyone."

"Including you."

A chill ran down Leo’s spine.

He remembered the Murphy from a few months ago, in that luxury RV, the man who still needed his comfort and encouragement.

That Murphy had been fragile, and he had been real.

But now, the man commanding the stage had become a pure symbol of power.

A cold statue forged from votes, money, ideology, and the state’s machinery of violence.

On this cold night, the abstract concept called "Senator" had taken on a concrete, physical form.

Leo turned his head, looking into the empty space beside him.

He could almost see Roosevelt sitting there in his wheelchair, a pipe in his mouth.

’Should I feel sad about this, then?’ Leo asked silently in his mind.

"Sad?"

Roosevelt laughed.

"No, Leo, this is excellent."

"You don’t need a friend with his own ideas. You need a useful tool."

"A self-righteous bureaucrat who is like a fish in water within the system is the exact battering ram we need to march on Washington."

"He enjoys the glory on stage; you collect the price from behind the curtain."

"If he were still that weak Representative, he wouldn’t even have a voice in the Senate. How could he possibly do our bidding?"

"Only when he becomes a part of the Leviathan does he earn the right to devour other interests."

The speech on stage ended.

Amidst a sky full of confetti and roaring cheers, Murphy waved to the crowd.

He looked so confident, so imperious.

He seemed to truly believe he had won all this through his own charisma and ability.

Such is the magic of power. It makes one quickly forget the ladder they climbed to get there.

"Let’s go, Mr. President."

Leo pulled up his collar and turned toward the exit.

"The show’s over."

"It’s time for us to get ready to collect our due."

He moved through the cheering crowd, going against the flow.

Everyone was watching the stage. No one noticed the young Mayor slipping away.

He walked out of the square and onto the street.

The cold wind blew past, clearing his head.

He glanced back at the brilliantly lit area.

A new king’s birth was being celebrated there.

And the Kingmaker was now walking alone in the darkness.

"So, do you feel a sense of loss?" Roosevelt asked. "It was a victory you orchestrated, but all the glory goes to him."

"No."

Leo shook his head.

"I want power."

"Real power. The power to control resources."

"Murphy thinks he’s the sun now, and that’s good."

"But he’ll soon discover that the fuel needed to keep that sun burning is all in my hands."

"Let him go to Washington and be a Senator."

"Let him enjoy the spotlights and the flowers."

"When he sits in that office, when he faces those greedy faces, when he realizes he can’t actually do anything on his own..."

"He’ll remember me."

"He’ll remember who put him there."

Leo opened the car door and got into the driver’s seat.

He started the engine, and the black sedan slipped into the night, heading toward Pittsburgh.

And behind him, the Philadelphia night sky was being lit up by fireworks.